


can't say no (to you)

by InfinityJay



Series: dumbasses in love [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Swearing, no betas we die like men, no drugs this time lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinityJay/pseuds/InfinityJay
Summary: Iwaizumi is new at this relationship thing, but loving Oikawa? That's as natural as breathing.





	can't say no (to you)

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i just rly like writing oikawa he's a trip. this is self-indulgent as fuck and has no direction. just warning u.
> 
> i would suggest reading the first part, which is longer and actually has kind of a plot.

Though a little groggy, Iwaizumi wakes up with a strange sense of clairvoyance. There’s no momentary confusion about why Oikawa’s asleep beside them when they’d been ignoring each other for so long. He doesn’t need to recount the memories of the night before. He just knows.

Knows that everything’s all good, and that everything’s how it should be.

Oikawa’s pressed against his side, the top of his head tucked under Iwaizumi’s jaw. Iwaizumi’s woken up like this so many times before, with Oikawa’s arm thrown over his torso and their legs tangled. Except, he doesn’t get the typical rush of shame or disappointment now like he usually does. Like he’s taking something that isn’t his.

No, instead he’s filled to the brim with a warm contentment that can only be found through the reciprocation of affection.

Iwaizumi cards his fingers through Oikawa’s curls, pushing it away from his forehead, then trails his touch down to his shoulder. Unconsciously reacting to the gentle touch, Oikawa presses his nose into the material of Iwaizumi’s shirt and sighs. It passes through Iwaizumi’s body like a rush. He traces his fingers over the lines of muscle hidden under sleeve.

That’s enough to wake him up, squeezing his eyes shut then blinking them open, just barely, to look up at Iwaizumi. Dazed brown eyes take him in, and Iwaizumi’s heart flutters in his chest when Oikawa gives him the softest smile. He’s barely even conscious, but when he sees Iwaizumi, his first reaction is happiness.

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat. It’s a sight he hadn’t thought he would have the chance to see until very recently. It seemed all too chimeric, he hadn’t let himself hope. But here he is, tucked into Iwaizumi’s side like it’s his place, like he belongs there.

Oikawa blinks at the pale blue light slipping through the blinds and rolls over to pat across the sheets for his phone. Iwaizumi doesn’t have the chance to feel the loss before Oikawa has all but thrown himself across his chest, again. Instead of staying at his side, the boy has elected to lay half on top of Iwaizumi, chin propped up against his sternum. This gives Iwaizumi the chance to shake some life back into the arm that had fallen asleep below Oikawa.

He’s about to say good morning to Oikawa when the boy tosses his phone aside and pushes his face into Iwaizumi’s shirt. Warmth curls in Iwaizumi’s chest when Oikawa pulls himself up to tuck his face into the curve of Iwaizumi’s neck, but quickly vanishes when the brace knocks against his knee.

By reflex, he says, “Ow, you bitch.” It didn’t hurt that much.

Voice muffled by the collar of his shirt, Oikawa mumbles without much apology in his tone, “Whoops.”

Oikawa turns his head to look at Iwaizumi and sighs, warm breath ghosting over his neck. The goosebumps that appear over Iwaizumi’s exposed arms have nothing to do with the fan whirring at top-speed overhead.

“It’s, like, five. Why are we awake? This should be illegal,” he mumbles, tired voice low and raspy and doing all sorts of things to Iwaizumi’s belly.

“We have to go to school in a few hours,” Iwaizumi promptly responds, unable to stop the small smile at how predictable Oikawa is. Every morning, he complains about waking up.

Oikawa’s only response is a whine, eyes closed and falling asleep, again. Iwaizumi smooths the flat of his hand over Oikawa’s waist, over his hoodie, and drags it up over his rubs, earning him an appreciative hum. Something Iwaizumi’s learned over the years, stealing touches that weren’t his, is that Oikawa is always more generous with the sounds he makes when he’s tired.

Now that the touches belong to him, Iwaizumi plans to exploit this as much as he can.

“So, is breakfast something that’ll happen in the near future?” Iwaizumi suggests, though his thoughts are nowhere near food.

He brushes his hand back down to where the hem of Oikawa’s hoodie has ridden up to reveal a generous trip of pale skin. When his fingertips graze over the dimples framing the base of Oikawa’s spin, he feels him shift. Barely, but enough for him to pick up on. Iwaizumi slips his hand under the hem, touch tracing his spine up a few inches. The steady breathing against his neck has halted.

There’s nothing new about this, not really. Iwaizumi is notoriously (not that he would ever admit or allow Oikawa to tell anyone) affectionate in the very early morning. Oikawa is extra receptive when he’s tired. Such a combination has never spelled danger for them, not really.

Not because there weren’t any feelings attached, since there were, but because those feelings were kept in the dark and repressed until only a few hours ago.

And so, now, everything is so much more intense.

When Oikawa still doesn’t answer, Iwaizumi pinches his side, making him jolt. He pushes himself up onto his hands to level Iwaizumi with a sleepy pout.

“Breakfast?” Iwaizumi tries again.

With a soft groan, Oikawa lowers himself back onto his elbows and presses his forehead to Iwaizumi’s sternum. Iwaizumi can’t contain his grin. It’s so predictable and just like Oikawa: to take forever and a minute to wake up. He’s feeling generous and in a helplessly giddy mood, though, so he’ll go easy on Oikawa.

Iwaizumi pats his side. “Alright,” he says, “how about you stay in here and I’ll go shower and make something to eat?”

Without moving, Oikawa responds, “You know, if we take one together, it’ll save water.” Iwaizumi pinches him again.

Oikawa doesn’t make to move off of him, so Iwaizumi pushes him to the side and sits up. He stumbles off the bed and stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. When he glances back at Oikawa on his way out of the room, he catches his lazy eyes following him. It inexplicably sends a tiny shock through Iwaizumi’s body.

After brushing his teeth and hopping into Oikawa’s shower, Iwaizumi takes a moment to stop and think. This isn’t an atypical morning in the instances he stays the night. They go to sleep together and they wake up together. More often than not, they don’t move very far, once they’re awake. If Oikawa’s parents are home, one of them cooks breakfast for the boys. If they aren’t, Iwaizumi is usually the one to throw something together. Usually pre-made pancakes of bland eggs, something he won’t fuck up in his still-half-asleep state.

But Iwaizumi feels like he’s been turned on his head. Like someone’s pulled the rug out from under him and he’s stumbling. He’s unsteady on his feet. Everything feels so much… more, now, causing all sorts of sensations in his chest.

Every touch Oikawa gives him, every sound, every look, lights up his nerve endings, leaving him so overstimulated and mentally fried. He’s back to being a barely-pubescent boy again, just figuring out why Oikawa leaves his chest warm and longing. God, he’s gotten so sappy.

He thought he’d gotten ahold of all these wild reactions years ago. He used to be good at hiding it, suppressing it. But now, knowing that every interaction is just as substantial to Oikawa as it is to him has reduced him to a bumbling kid, grappling with what his feelings mean. It’s a harsh regression, one that’s left him reeling.

Yet, a voice in his head (which sounds suspiciously like Oikawa) is screaming at him to give in to this. To allow himself to be vulnerable. He’s only pushed it away before because he thought his regards were unrequited, and he was afraid of ruining the most meaningful friendship he’s ever had and will ever have. But now, it turns out that Oikawa is into him, too. So, what’s the danger on being more open about his affection for the boy?

_I don’t want to get hurt_ , that insecure part of him whispers, successfully muzzling every single urge to bare his heart.

However false it turned out to be, his psyche had taken a heavy hit when he thought Oikawa was manipulating him because of how he feels. Rationally, he can tell himself that Oikawa wouldn’t do that to him, that he’s overthinking. But he’s been living with these insecurities for too long. There’s always been this sneaking suspicion within him that Oikawa would use him for his own personal satisfaction and fulfillment. It’s stuck to him like nothing else has.

It should’ve made him bitter or angry, but it only left him sad.

When he wanders back into Oikawa’s room to check on him, he’s in the same place as before, stretched out under the mess of sheets. Endearment settles in Iwaizumi’s chest, warm, and he can’t help but remember that soft smile he’d been blessed with only a half an hour before. He rolls his eyes and strolls down to the kitchen.

He remembers how Oikawa had reacted when he was with Fumiko; how he would close up and be bitter, how he would make shitty comments and flirt with her on purpose to bother him, how he was generally a jealous dick. It should’ve pissed Iwaizumi off, and it did. Iwaizumi may belong with him, but he doesn’t belong to him. Oikawa is not entitled to his attention, nor his time, just because Iwaizumi’s heart does flips whenever he smiles.

But he can’t help the pleased swirl in his chest at the idea that he reduced Oikawa, the great and powerful, to a small, jealous disaster that took pot shots at a girl just because she took up too much of Iwaizumi’s time.

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to flip on kitchen lights as he shuffles through the contents of the fridge. Looks like it’ll be eggs again, this morning. Yawning, he switches on the stovetop and fishes a frying pan out of a cabinet. He pours out a glass of orange juice for himself while the stove warms up and leans against the counter.

By the time Oikawa struggles downstairs, Iwaizumi’s already finished cooking his eggs and has started cooking his own. Hobbling over with his crutches, he surprised Iwaizumi by giving him a peck on the lips. Iwaizumi blinks. So, they’re doing that now.

“Ew,” Oikawa says, face screwed up. “Did you drink orange juice?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, using a plastic spatula to push egg down the sides of the pan. “Yeah, so?”

“Gross,” he says, falling into a chair at the dining room table. “Only you would drink orange juice right after brushing your teeth.”

“Trashkawa, you would eat ice cream for breakfast, if you could.”

He shrugs. “It’s basically milk.”

Shaking his head, but unable to shake off his smile, Iwaizumi says, “No, it’s really not.”

On the walk to school, Iwaizumi caries both of their bags, one on his back and one over his stomach. It’s not like Oikawa can’t carry it while using his crutches, but Iwaizumi agreed to stop his bitching. Content to listen to him talk, Iwaizumi says nothing while Oikawa rants about how unfair their coach is.

“Honestly, isn’t it against labor laws to be required to go to work while seriously injured?” He doesn’t even offer thanks when Iwaizumi holds the door open for him, too caught up in his buffoonery.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi scoffs, “It’s practice, dumbass, you’re not even doing anything.” After a pause, he adds, “and you’re not employed by Irihata.” He knows what Oikawa will say before he says it.

“I know! It’s horrible! I don’t even get paid for my hard work!”

Before Iwaizumi can slap him for being a dumbass, Matsukawa appears on Oikawa’s other side, grinning at the pair. “Hey, guys, I see you made up. You’re welcome,” he says, flashing his teeth at them.

“Mattsun, you sonuvabitch,” Oikawa barks and tries to slap at Matsukawa’s legs with his crutches.

Matsukawa dances around Oikawa’s crutches, throwing his hands up and saying, “Hey, hey, hey! I know it wasn’t my place but you were both dumbasses and just needed a push in the right direction! You guys were the horses I led to water and- hey, looks like you drank!”

“ _I am not a horse._ ” Oikawa balances on one crutch, straining himself to get a hit in on the boy. Iwaizumi doesn’t make a move to help him, threading his fingers together and resting them on top of the backpack on his front. “You scheming little twit, get over here.”

Matsukawa, however, skips away with the advantage of having two functioning legs. A girl steps in front of Oikawa, effectively stopping him from taking off after Matsukawa. (Not that he could, since he’s basically a cripple with less commitment.)

“Oh my god, Oikawa-san! Do you need help getting to class?” she asks with her hands covering her mouth.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow arches at Oikawa as he visibly settles and smiles down at the girl. It’s not the same smile he gives Iwaizumi, and the thought causes a well-up of smugness in his chest. “No, thank you. That’s okay,” he answers smoothly.

“Are-are you sure? I don’t want you to injure yourself anymore,” she offers. Iwaizumi almost snorts.

Trying to give her a placating smile that isn’t working, Oikawa assures her, “Oh, no. It’s alright. I don’t want to trouble you.” He never could say a straight ‘no’ to any of these girls.

“It’s no trouble at all! We’re in the same class!” This girl doesn’t know how to quit.

“Really, it’s fine,” Oikawa says, but the patience in his voice is giving way to irritation. They could’ve gotten to his class and he could be sitting down already in the time this conversation (if it could be called that) has taken. “I have Iwa-chan to-“

The attention of the boy in question turns elsewhere when a voice calls his name.

“Iwaizumi!” It’s Mitsuki, a middle blocker on the girls’ team that Iwaizumi smokes with every now and then. 

Beside him, Oikawa noticeably tenses and turns his attention, also, to the cute brunette ambling over. Iwaizumi glances at the carefully blank expression on his face. Curious.

“Hey, I got some Chiquita banana if you want to hang out after practice,” she offers, like he knows what that means. Using his reasonably good powers of deduction, he would say that the girl he only smokes with is offering to smoke with him. His mother would be proud.

Iwaizumi sucks in his lips. “Mm, can’t today. Rain check?” he asks, because he can never pass up the opportunity to smoke someone else’s weed.

Not at all affected by the rejection, Mistuki shrugs and opens her mouth to respond, but isn’t fast enough. “Iwa-chan!” Oikawa interjects, throwing an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “Are you making plans with someone else right in front of me? I bet you weren’t even gonna invite me. How rude!”

Iwaizumi catches sight of the girl flirting with (read: pestering) Oikawa slump away dejectedly. He’d feel bad, but he won’t. Oikawa’s crutch digs angrily into his shoulder, and he pushes the boy away. “I always just assume you’ll force yourself onto the plans, anyway,” he counters, cocking an eyebrow.

Mitsuki’s eyes sparkle with mirth as she watches the exchange. “Alright, well, if you change your mind, text me,” she says with a smile.

“You got it,” Iwaizumi responds, though he’s sure he won’t do it.

Once she walks away, Iwaizumi looks to Oikawa. “You want me to carry this to your next class?” he asks, holding the strap of Oikawa’s backpack.

Looking like he’d just heard the stupidest thing in his life, he responds, “Was that, like, a real question that you just asked me?”

 

* * *

 

Practice where Oikawa sits on the sidelines and shouts out critiques in realtime is not a good practice. A bored Oikawa is an Oikawa that likes to do this thing where he points out completely irrelevant stuff just because he doesn’t like it.

“Kunimi, you’re too short. Drink your goddamn milk like a grown-up.”

(“We’re, like, the same height,” the first-year whines, but it goes unheard.)

“Kindaichi, your hair’s stupid and throws off the whole aesthetic of the team.”

“Yahaba, you look like a fuckin’ Pokémon character, the hell?”

“Makki, literally, why does your hair look like that? You’re a mess.”

“Mattsun, you’re a bitch.”

The fact that he says all of this while sitting against a wall undercuts it all, though. Hard to act big and tough when you’re on the ground. Irihata makes no move to shut him up, and doesn’t seem to notice him at all. Whether it’s because he doesn’t care or doesn’t want to yell at the cripple, who knows.

He’s not technically being disruptive, just annoying.

“Hey, can we vote to kick this guy?” Matsukawa suggests during a water break. He and the other two third-years crown around Oikawa’s spot on the ground, breathless and drenched in sweat. Hanamaki presses an ice-cold bottle of water to Matsukawa’s neck, and the boy shoves him in retaliation.

“No one understand your nerd-speak, Mattsun,” Oikawa says, drawing his knee up to prop his elbow on it. “I would be somewhere else, having fun, if I could, but it wasn’t my decision. As captain, it’s my duty to inspire and motivate the masses. Thus, my presence is required.”

“Don’t lie,” Iwaizumi comments after gulping down half of a bottle, “you have nothing better to do. If you weren’t here, you’d be at home asleep or something, probably withdrawing from lack of attention.”

Oikawa tilts his head to look up at him. “Okay, fair enough, but you have to take into account that you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Not in the least apologetic, Iwaizumi slides down the wall to sit beside him, sweaty and breathless. He inhales the rest of his water and catches Oikawa looking at him for too long from the corner of his eye.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki sit down across from them, grateful for their short break. “Your parents still out of town?” Matsukawa asks.

Oikawa nods. His parents, upon hearing about his accident, had come down for a brief visit a day after. They insisted on him going with them to Niigata, but he told them no. It’s his last year, he said, so he can’t miss school, and Iwaizumi would be there to help him. Iwaizumi begrudgingly agreed, because he can’t say no to Oikawa, ever.

Luckily for him, there’s always someone willing to help Oikawa out that isn’t him. When he’d gone to Oikawa’s class for the lunch period that day, he’d found a few girls around him, offering up their notes for him. It was amusing to watch him flounder and try to explain to them that he hurt his knee, he wasn’t blind or deaf, and he could and did take his own notes. If one thing could be said about his fangirls, though, it’s that they’re determined.

Oikawa shifts from where he sits next to Iwaizumi, bumping his uninjured knee against his friend’s thigh. Nobody else seemed to notice, but it sends an electric shock through Iwaizumi’s body. Despite their new relationship status, Iwaizumi still feels iffy about acting overtly more-than-friendly with his boyfriend. Actually, he feels iffier about it. Every touch they share, every look, feels more dangerous than it had before.

He’s hyperaware of every contact, and not just because each one sends his heart soaring. They haven’t told anyone and haven’t discussed telling anyone about it, even Hanamaki and Matsukawa. If asked why not, Iwaizumi would say it’s because some people aren’t ready for something like that: two boys loving each other.

The real reason, though, since he doesn’t give a fuck if people are homophobic, is that this is his and Oikawa’s secret. There’s something about sharing this secret just between the two of them, that they have alone, that makes his heart swell and his chest warm. This is theirs, and no one can take it away from them.

It’s also dangerous because of how much Iwaizumi _wants_ to touch Oikawa. He craves the feeling of Oikawa against him, near him. Being able to sit so close to him and feeling him more even closer is intoxicating. He could get lost in it if he isn’t careful. Even now, he feels that overwhelming urge deep in his chest to get closer to Oikawa, feel more of him against this skin.

After practice, Oikawa waits for them to clean up before they can leave. The entire time he’s waiting, he watches Iwaizumi with a lazy gaze. It’s a miracle nobody’s caught on, yet. Iwaizumi carries his bag for him, again, without being asked.

Matsukawa elects to stand with two other people between himself and Oikawa after the crippled boy tried, once again, to break some kneecaps with his crutches. (“He’s gonna kill someone!” Matsukawa had protested, though his complaints fell on deaf ears.)

“Are you actually mad at him?” Iwaizumi says in a low tone, leaning towards Oikawa so he can hear him. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are in a heated debate over the functionality of a spork, so it’s not like they’re listening, anyway.

(“It’s a freak of nature! The fork part doesn’t do jack shit and the spoon part is compromised by the fork part,” Matsukawa argues.)

(“Jokes on you, ‘cause it’s not even natural; man created it,” Hanamaki countered.)

Oikawa hums thoughtfully. “Nah, but it’s fun to act like it,” he answers with a crooked grin. It _was_ funny to watch Matsukawa dance and stumble out of Oikawa’s range. Iwaizumi would never validate him by admitting that, though, so he rolls his eyes.

Soon, Matsukawa and Hanamaki part from Oikawa and Iwaizumi to walk in a different direction. Iwaizumi waves to them as they walk off, and feels something tug on his shirt. Squinting at the light from the sinking sun, he looks to Oikawa, who’s holding the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt in his hand.

“You coming over or…?” Oikawa asks, pulling on Iwaizumi’s shirt until he steps closer.

Iwaizumi gives it some thought. His parents wouldn’t mind, as long as he doesn’t miss school or get himself arrested. He’d probably get better sleep if he were beside Oikawa. He wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him. All of these are convincing enough, but there’s still a variable in the equation that Iwaizumi can’t ignore.

As much as he wants to spend all of his time with Oikawa, he knows it’s not necessarily smart or healthy. It’s overwhelming, how much of his time and attention he wants to devote to his boyfriend. But he knows there’s a line in the sand, one he’s drawn for himself. He’s afraid of becoming too dependent on Oikawa, too attached. As much as he just wants to give in and cling, he won’t ruin what they have.

“Sure,” he says, anyway, because he can’t say no to Oikawa.

Seeing Oikawa’s face brighten washes away any and all of his reservations. They’ve got a few thinks working against them, both internal and external. But they’ll make it work, like they always do.

**Author's Note:**

> love..... is stored in the iwaizumi


End file.
